The Gods

It so seems that every time I vent my feelings here I am awarded a blow by the Gods. And sometimes it also seems that the Gods take my word, word for word. It is I who said that if I saw male cheeks blushing at the hamalla girl I would throw up. And that is just what I did, in a beautiful performance. Why is it that I can never deliver a bad performance of any sort? I should be thankful in other spheres I suppose but not in this one. I have just nursed myself through a whole night of living in the bathroom. And it doesn't feel right. Just one of those days when I'd gladly trade myself for a man. If men had anything like this they would declare two extra public holidays a month, or maybe three just to be safe. That would land us with 36 more days of holidays. Now there, I wish I were a man just to be able to be kinder to the population and relieve them of 36 days of work. I think I would make history in that I wouldn't need to go very public, it would guarantee me the place of Prime Minister in a snap. And since there always is a catch in politics, then once I'd be sworn in as Prime Minister, I'd show my true colours, as always happens anyway. Then I'd attack the loudmouth uncouth, crude girls with one fell swoop. I'd make them cry to pay for all my last-night-dire-straits in the bathroom. And then for the boys, just as uncouth, crude and rude. I wouldn't just make them cry, I'd make them change gender into asexuality in another one fell swoop of something else which would take two seconds max. I am tired of these types of people who think they rule the world and probably do because they are living healthily on my taxes. I do not think that super clever people are the only ones who should be allowed to live. Intellect doesn't feature in this at all. Attitude does. And I'm tired of the attitude thing. I should not get uncomfortable just because a lager lout decides to possess Valletta's republic Street, cheekily make the Courts entrance his home and wastes away his day swearing and his night making babies who will at first look sweet but then become just a chip off the old block which isn't a very nice block at that. I'm also tired of the attitude of 16 year old girls who are already vodka experts, and who decide that 9 months of pregnancy and two hours of labour is all it takes to secure them financial single mother pensions. And now probably the Gods will start swearing at me and holding an extraordinary general meeting to see how I should be dealt with. Maybe it won't be the bathroom this time. Try the bedroom for a change.